The Five Stages of Grief
by KleopatraSelene
Summary: Everyone mourns in their own, some become angry while some sink into depression. Each grieving process is different, just like the person who goes through it. These are the stories of how the squinterns came to terms with Vincent's untimely death.
1. Denial

**A/N: This was originally supposed to be a new chapter to my story "Inside Their Broken Hearts" but once I sat down to write it this idea popped into my head and I thought it would be much better. This story will be a series of 5 oneshots, each with one of the stages of grief and with a different intern. I honestly still miss VNM even thought it's been quite a while since he died and I'm sure there are some of you out there that also miss him. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Denial<strong>

He couldn't believe it when Dr. Saroyan told him the sad news, and he still couldn't believe it. Limbo was unusually quiet today, an eerie silence surrounded Dr. Brennan's grad students as they worked, none of them so much as whispering to each other, giving the first sign that something was not the same. But it was fine. Soon, he would walk into the room spouting random facts that no one was expected to know and bring the whole room to life, just like always.

He wasn't aware that he was doing it, but every few minutes he found himself glancing at the door. _Where is he?_ He would wonder.

Despite the fact that he was sometimes annoying and seemed to get distracted easily, Clark had really liked Vincent. He was mainly the reason why his personality had changed so drastically. Once an uptight and serious man, he was now much more easygoing. Seeing how Vincent was always so talkative and a joy to be around, he tried to emulate that, something Nora found extremely attractive.

_So what would happen now_, he wondered. Many thought that he would go back to being serious, especially considering the antisocial behavior he had been displaying lately, but all with a good excuse of course. In his defense, nobody had been acting like themselves lately either. But he knew that it would have to change, they couldn't stay silent forever, pretending that nothing happened and wishing that it would somehow go back to normal. Something had to be done, and it seemed that he would have to be the one to do it. Surveying the room once more, he opened him mouth.

"Did you know that the flavor of bubblegum comes from a mixture of wintergreen, vanilla and cassia?"

They all looked up at him, shock and confusion registering on all their faces. The other grad students said nothing, choosing to ignore the random comment and return to their work. But the others didn't, they knew the hidden meaning behind his words. Daisy offered him a smile, something they hadn't seen in a while from the usually peppy girl. Arastoo and Wendell nodded their head in acknowledgement, each also giving a small smile while Fisher simply bobbed his head, showing that he had understood the comment.

He isn't coming back, but that's okay. They would never forget him, and if it took for Clark to burst out a random fact every now and then to keep his memory alive, he would do it.

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><p><strong>Denial seemed to fit Clark the best and I thought the "back story" was quite good. I know it was short but I hope you liked it! <strong>

**Also, if you are one of the people who read "Inside Their Broken Hearts", I promise I will continue it so don't give up hope.**

**Have a wonderful day and please tell me what you think :)**


	2. Anger

**Guess who update? Me! First of all, thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, I love you all so much for taking time to read my story and for telling me that you like it. I thought this one would probably be everyone's favorite and I personally think it's the most emotional one, so without further ado, enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Anger<strong>

_Why?_ This question was the only thing that ran through his mind. Now, he could only feel anger and remorse. He looked down at his bloody knuckles and wished that he could feel the physical, rather than emotional, pain. _Why him, why anyone?_

"Wendell, dear, are you alright?" His mother knocked on his bedroom door, "I heard a huge bang coming from your room."

"Ya mom, I'm fine." He didn't want to worry her. She already had enough on her mind without him adding to it.

"Can I please come in?" Despite her best efforts to hide it, he heard the concern in her tone. She knew what had happened. How couldn't she? It was all over the news and on every magazine stand in D.C.

Taking the silence as a yes, she walked in, immediately sighing at the sight of her son. He looked like a complete mess, his blond hair disheveled and his blue eyes accompanied by dark circles, making them stand out even more against his unusually pale skin. If his mother hadn't raised him from birth, she might not have recognized him; he looked like a stranger compared to the person he had been two days ago.

When her eyes landed on his hand, she softly clicked her tongue and sighed again. "Let me clean that up." Turning around, she exited the room, expecting him to follow her. Wendell didn't want to argue, he would have to bandage it soon anyway. Pushing himself up with his good hand, he went down the stairs and found her in the kitchen, the first aid kit sprawled out on the counter. Wendell silently moved in front of his mother and extended his injured hand towards her. Taking it gently, she cleaned up the blood and disinfected it, being careful not to cause him any more pain. But despite the slight stinging sensation, Wendell didn't even flinch when she sprayed the antibiotic. He didn't mind the pain. He was used to it. As a hockey player, he got hurt practically on a weekly basis, and the fact that he was not very focused on her actions added to it as well. Dazed by recent events, he wasn't quite aware of his surroundings or paying attention to anything around him until he heard it.

"_Yesterday afternoon at the Jeffersonian Institute, British grad student Vincent Nigel-Murray was murdered by the infamous sniper, Jacob Broadsky, when a bullet shot out of nowhere severed his aorta…_"

He couldn't listen anymore. It felt like reality had blindsided him again. He couldn't believe his ears. Did these people have no feelings, no heart? How could they say such things so nonchalantly, like he was just some piece of news for them to make money off, instead of an actual human being?

"Can you please turn that off?" He didn't realize how harsh and strained his voice sounded until his mother gave him a sharp glance. Her expression softened, and she quickly turned the TV off before returning to the task at hand. A few moments of heavy silence passed, neither of them looking at each other, until his mother worked up the courage to speak to her son again.

"You must have been good friends with that boy."

The urge to cry was unbearable. He wished desperately that he could tell his mother yes, that they were – or had been – very good friends, but the best he could say would be that they had been coworkers. When he had first met the awkward Brit, he viewed him as an obstacle, another person that could compromise his chances of becoming Dr. Brennan's full time intern. As the years passed, he slowly began to let go of those ideas, but never enough to actually become friends with any of them. And now, he hated himself for it, for never getting close to them, especially him. They could have had so much in common. Maybe he liked hockey too, or maybe they liked the same band. But now it was too late, and Vincent would never be able to answer these questions.

"Don't use your hand for at least a day, please, let it heal."

Muttering a quick thank you and good night, he went back to his room, practically sprinting to his room, as if he could just get away from everything if he ran fast enough. He wanted to slam the door, but didn't, not wanting to worry his mother yet again. The small room was dark, but he didn't bother to turn on the light, instead welcoming the eerie calmness and silence. Slumping down on his bed, making sure to be careful with his injured hand, he lied down, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't get the reporter's voice out of his head, or Dr. Saroyan's words explaining the tragic accident. Going back to his previous question, he continued to ask why, hoping that if he said it enough someone would give him an answer. But now that he thought about it, he realized he did have an answer. A rather farfetched one, but it was much better than what he had had before.

He had a chance to make things better, at least with the remaining grad students. Befriending them was the only thing he wanted to do now. He wished to get close to them, to make amends for what he couldn't do with Vincent. This seemed like all he could do to get rid of his guilt, and, he thought to himself, if he was in this much distress, the others couldn't be in a much better state.

The next day after work, he invited the grad students out for a drink at the Founding Father. They were all shocked that he would make such an offer. But considering everything that had happened that week, they all agreed. They all needed someone. They all needed each other. And in the days to come, each other was all they had.

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><p><strong>I felt so bad for hurting Wendell! But I thought it added a nice touch to the story. I hope you all liked it. Also, would anyone like to guess how I paired up the interns that are left? The last three stages are bargaining, depression and acceptance, which intern do you think belongs with which?<strong>

**Have a nice day! : )**


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